


Time Does Not Heal All Wounds, but Scars Tell A Thousand Stories

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Worship, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, No Smut, Nogitsune Trauma, One Shot, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Scars, Short One Shot, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles has a lot of scars—scars that tell everything he’s been through. Stiles hates them, but Derek finds them infatuating and will do anything to make sure Stiles knows how gorgeous he is.





	Time Does Not Heal All Wounds, but Scars Tell A Thousand Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluebelle88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebelle88/gifts).

There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t scarred. He had a small across his cheek from a shard of broken glass when his father threw a bottle of him in a drunken rage, but you could only notice if he turned his head a certain way. There was another scar in his hairline, just above his right temple, from when he’d hit his head after the hellhound flipped his Jeep. He didn’t care about it though; it was easily hidden, and no one ever really noticed, but the others weren’t as subtle. The others were painful reminders of how frail, weak, and mortal he was.

His left shoulder was marred by the spreading fading pink lines of the lightning-like scar that the lichen had left behind—a painful reminder of everything that had happened during the Nogitsune’s control. The lines stretched across his shoulder blade, over his shoulder and up the back of his neck slightly, but thankfully it was low enough that he could hide it beneath the collar of his shirt.

The curve of his right shoulder was scarred by the ring of teeth marks left behind by the lamprey Donovan spawned to bite him that dreadful night. His hand trembled as he ran his fingers over the ridges of the rippled pink scar tissue. He felt tears well in his eyes, blurring his visions to streaks of colour and light as his mind was flooded with the horrific image—the memory—of Donovan at the bottom of the scaffolding, his body slumped backwards on the blood-soaked iron bar that impaled him.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, looking down at the faint white lines and patches of pink skin that covered his arms—reminders of the battles he’d fought, the car crashes, the times their enemies had kidnapped him and beaten him.

He had a gash across his abdomen, a wound he only faintly remembers from during the time the Nogitsune was in control. He remembered drifting in an endless oblivion, lost in the tangled mess of his own mind. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream; he could only watch on helplessly as the Nogitsune controlled his body. He remembered the distant feeling of the knife tearing through his flesh, the blood draining from his body as the Nogitsune’s fireflies escaped.

There was a gash across his chest, a scar from the huge shard of glass that had impaled him. Melissa had done her best to stitch him up but even she couldn’t stop it from scarring.

There were others—scars down his back, legs, and a missing toe from when he was shot in the foot trying to save Derek. His hands were scarred from where Allison’s taser had scorched his palms. 

They were hard to look at; even harder not to look at.

Stiles let out a deep sigh as he grabbed his shirt, pulling his arms through the sleeves and lifting it over his head. He tugged it down over his chest, pulling at the hem of his shirt until it covered the scars that marred his pale skin.

He jumped as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

Derek nuzzled his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck, enveloping him in his warmth.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Stiles gasped.

“You know, they say scars are sexy,” Derek whispered, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ neck.

Stiles snorted. “I’m not sexy.”

“I beg to disagree,” Derek replied. He reached up and gently brushed Stiles’ tousled hair away from his face. He pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Not only that, but they show the kind of man you are.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles scoffed, turning around in Derek’s arms to face him. He pointed at his cheek. “My father was a drunk.” He gestured to his left shoulder. “I was possessed by an evil spirit.” He pointed at his right shoulder and added, “And I killed a guy—and that’s just the start.”

“That’s not what I see,” Derek said softly. He leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “I see strength.” He hooked his finger around the collar of Stiles shirt and tugged it down, bringing his lips to Stiles’ neck.

“I see resilience,” he said in a low, sultry voice, brushing his lips across the pale scar before tilting his head the other way and bringing his lips to Stiles’ other shoulder. “I see courage.”

Stiles pulled back slightly. His jaw was tense and he couldn’t bring himself to look Derek in the eye.

He hated talking about his scars—hated being reminded of all the things he’d been through, all the things he’d done.

He wasn’t like Derek; he wasn’t strong, he wasn’t resilient, he wasn’t brave.

Derek seemed to catch on to his thoughts.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Stiles against himself. He scooped the young man off his feet and tossed him onto the bed.

Stiles yelped as he bounced on the mattress, sitting up and glaring at Derek. “What the hell was that for?”

Derek stalked forwards, crawling across the bed until he straddled Stiles, pinning him to the bed. He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing their mouths together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.

Derek drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again.

He looped his arms around Derek’s neck as he brought his lips back to Derek’s.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. His fingers toyed with the hem of Stiles’ shirt. He ran his hands up Stiles’ side, pulling the shirt up with it before wrestling it off Stiles.

Stiles giggled as he struggled to pull the shirt off over his head. He laid back against the mattress as Derek crushed their mouths together.

Derek pulled back, craning his neck and pressing his lips to Stiles’ temple, then his cheek, then his neck and the curve of his shoulder, taking his time and lingering on each scar—tenderly kissing the pale flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek whispered as he made his way down Stiles’ body, kissing each of his scars. “Every… last... inch… of you.”

“Derek,” Stiles stated, reaching down to try and block him.

Derek stopped. He took Stiles’ hands in his own, pressing his lips to the palms of Stiles’ scorched hands before pinning them above the young man’s head. His eyes lit up with a flash of crimson as he said, “Keep them there.”

Stiles felt a warmth trickle through his veins, a shiver rolling up his spine.

He started from the top again, pressing hi lips to Stiles’ temple and trailing faint kisses across his pale skin. His lips brushed across Stiles’ bare skin, making him shudder and gasp.

He kissed every scar—every inch of skin—from his head to the waistband of his jeans, lingering on each.

“I’ve also got a scar on my butt from when Scott accidentally stabbed me with a pair of scissors when we were four,” Stiles told him. “You wanna kiss that one too?”

A devilish smirk lifted the corners of Derek’s lips as eh grabbed the waistband of Stiles’ jeans and tugged at them.

“Wait, no,” Stiles said, bursting out in laughter and he swatted away Derek’s hands.

Derek let out a low chuckle, crawling back up the bed and pressing his weight against Stiles, pinning him in place and enveloping him in his warmth as he brought their lips together in a tender, loving kiss.

He drew back, looking deep into Stiles’ eyes.

“A scar is just a scar,” he whispered soothingly. He gently ran his fingers through Stiles’ tousled hair, brushing it back from his face. “And a scar simply means that you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you. You’re strong enough to outlive whatever hurt you. You’re brave enough to keep fighting. And you’re gorgeous—you’re more beautiful than words could ever describe. And every scar is a reminder that you’re alive.”

Stiles cupped Derek’s face in his hands, craning his neck and bringing their lips together in a tender, chaste kiss. As he drew back, he rested his forehead against Derek’s.

“I love you,” he whispered.

A soft smile played across Derek’s lips as he brushed his lips against Stiles’. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
